


Punchline

by doomed_spectacles



Series: Spooky Omens: 13 Days of Halloween! [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Banter, Dialogue Heavy, Dinosaurs, Gen, God plays games with the universe, Humor, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: “What are you doing here?” He emphasizes the word ‘you’ — as if anyone else would show up here, in this dusty corner of the Americas where the blue sky comes crashing down to meet red rock.An angel and a demon meet in the desert, where it becomes clear that neither of them are in on the joke.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Spooky Omens: 13 Days of Halloween! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978405
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51
Collections: Racket’s 13 Days of Halloween





	Punchline

**Author's Note:**

> Racket's 13 days of Halloween, Day 2: Bones!
> 
> Many apologies, this is not spooky at all. <3

“What are _you_ doing here?” He emphasizes the word ‘you’ — as if anyone else would show up here, in this dusty corner of the Americas where the blue sky comes crashing down to meet red rock.

“Hello to you too, Aziraphale.”

“This is not the time for teasing, Crowley! You _really_ cannot be here!” Aziraphale actually stamps his foot. A little cloud of red dust rises from the ground under his sandal.

“What are they doing back there?”

He purses his lips. “It's none of your concern.”

“Right. Well, then I'll just go back down to the village and tell the elders there's a bunch of angels hauling… bones? And dumping them?”

The white-clad figures behind him don’t stop what they’re doing. No rest for the, well, good.

“Don't- Crowley you wouldn't-”

“Oh that's a big one!” Crowley’s mouth curves up into a smile as Aziraphale’s curves down. “Do you see that? What kind of creature is it from?”

Aziraphale wrings his hands.

“I was in the garden, thought I saw all of 'em get named. Don't remember anything with a thigh that big!”

“It's not- it's a joke.” He’s stepped closer, lowered his head. Aziraphale speaks like he hopes the wind will take his words.

“A joke?”

“A small… practical joke.”

“A joke.”

“Not so _loud_ , Crowley!” 

The rocks and the sky are silent. They’re having their own conversation. Crowley looks skeptical. “The almighty is playing a joke by having a bunch of angelic interns scatter bones in the desert in the middle of nowhere.”

“It sounds worse when you say it.” It’s not a denial.

“So what's the punchline?”

“What?”

“The joke,” Crowley says, head cocked to the side. “Bird bones the size of a whale in the desert. What's the punchline?”

A pause. Aziraphale won’t meet his eyes. But the horizon is too vast — he can’t find a point to fix his gaze.

“You don't know.”

The wind whispers its own secrets to the rocks, sharing gossip with the plateaus around them.

“It's-”

“Are you going to say ineffable?”

“What are you doing here, anyway? The high desert is awfully dusty. Your robes are practically brown.”

He’s not wrong. “You're changing the subject.”

“Well spotted.”

“Just checking out the new world, you know how it is.” Crowley sniffs, casual. A crow calls him out but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice. “Reconnaissance.”

“Oh? And?”

“And, I don't care for the locals, I can tell you that.”

“Really? I've found them to be incredibly pleasant-”

“Not the people! The people are great. It's the, you know, the wildlife.”

Aziraphale doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t have to. The microscopic lift in his eyebrows is enough.

“I mean have you seen the snakes here? Great big rattlers on 'em, scaring the daylights out of everybody, it's unnecessary is what it is.” Crowley wrinkles his nose, remembering his half-baked explanations that fell on, well, nothing. (Snakes don’t have ears. Introductions are difficult.)

“And spiders the size of rabbits, what's that about? Lizards everywhere. Predatory birds you have to watch out for. This continent is ridiculous.”

Aziraphale is smiling now. “I like the fuzzy spiders.”

“You would.” He means it to sound haughty but can’t help the fondness that creeps in.

A pause. It’s more noticeable here. There’s no bustle to cover up the intentionality, for either side. Just an angel and a demon in the desert. And bones.

“After you've played your cruel joke on scientists to come, what's next?”

“It's not my-” He switches tactics, let’s the tease slide. “I don't have anything planned. You?”

“Heading south. Brazil's supposed to be nice this time of year. You should see what they're doing with coconuts.” A sly smile. Crowley is a shit demon but he knows how to tempt.

“Hmm.”

“Might, uh, spread some chaos while I'm there. Mayhem.” Crowley clears his throat. He’s made the pitch but waits to close.

“I see,” Aziraphale says, and smiles. It’s the twinkly smile, one that lights up this already too-bright place. “And the snakes in the Amazon are more welcoming to their, uh, fellow species?”

“Now who's teasing?”

Smiles.

Crowley looks away first. “But yeah, they're cool down there.”

“Did you say coconuts?”

“Mmmmyah, delicious. They put ‘em in cocktails that'll knock your socks off.” Crowley tongues the inside of his cheek. Casual.

“I don't wear-” He looks down at his sandals.

“It's an expression.”

“Right. Well. I may need to make my way south, then." Aziraphale meets Crowley's eyes, finally, once given the excuse. "If you'll be stirring up trouble, that is.” 

Aziraphale seems to remember the interns he's supervising. He looks back at them but they're playing at sword fighting with the spinal column of a chindesaurus. One of them has a skull on his head and is wandering around. Aziraphale heaves a sigh.

“Of course," Crowley drawls. He's good at drawling - must be the snake tongue. He can make any syllable into three, at least. "Be practically dereliction of duty if you didn't.”

“Right, yes. Exactly.”

“Mmmmmm. See you south of the equator then, angel.”

Crowley turns on his heel to stalk away but the flat dusty surface turns him too far and he skids a little. He covers it up with an exaggerated saunter.

“Goodbye Crowley.”

“Good luck with your fake bird bones!” He doesn't look over his shoulder, but he throws back a wave.

“They're not-”

Much, _much_ later, Crowley asks, "Did you really have to drop those bones off everywhere? Angel, they're _everywhere_!"

Aziraphale spills his wine on the patio table between them when he chortles in response, then miracles it away. The sky over the South Downs is a muddled sort of blue-gray that Crowley thinks might be hinting at an early spring.

Aziraphale leans forward with a drunken gleam in his eye and says, "Now let me tell you, dear, the _thing_ about the dinosaurs is-"

**Author's Note:**

> (imagery inspired by the moenkopi dinosaur tracks in AZ)
> 
> [me on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/doomed-spectacles)


End file.
